


Reports, Statistics and Divine Intervention

by helsinkibaby



Series: Stolen Moments [1]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night conversation between Leo and Ainsley. "The Lame Duck Congress" post ep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reports, Statistics and Divine Intervention

I'm sitting in my office, trying to summon up the energy to go home for the night. It's nigh on midnight, and I know that I'll have to be back in here at six o'clock tomorrow morning. I need to get some sleep. I need to get some coffee. Or chocolate. Chocolate would be good. Chocolate cake, with fudge sauce and those nice little sprinkles sprinkled on top of it. Yum.

  


Now I'm hungry again.

  


OK then. I can do this. Home, and a midnight snack before bed. Or maybe a midnight snack on the way home.

  


Either one sounds good.

  


Of course, either one would actually involve movement, which in turn would involve expending energy, something which seems to be rather in short supply at the moment. My friends would laugh if they could see me now. They're used to complaining about me being a constant ball of energy, of life, of movement. This is something that they'd take great pleasure in. If most of my friends were talking to me that is.

  


I start slightly as I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Who on Earth would still be here at this hour of the night? A janitor probably, coming to check if there's anyone still down here.

  


I wonder would he help me up the stairs if I asked him nicely?

  


There's a knock at my door, accompanied by a voice calling my name. I know that voice.

  


"Come in Leo."

  


The door opens, and I realise that I shouldn't be surprised that Leo is still here at this time. Even though I've only worked here for a couple of weeks, I know that he might as well live here. He works later than nearly anyone else, and he's always been in here earlier than me, and if not here, then in the residence with President Bartlet. I know that his marriage broke up last year, and I'm guessing that his work had something to do with it. Or maybe he works so hard because his marriage broke up?

  


Maybe I'm thinking too much.

  


He's looking at me curiously, holding a report in his hand. I recognise that report. It's the one that Sam and I handed in to him earlier today. Back when I had a little more energy. I hope he's not going to ask for a long detailed explanation. Remembering my name and the way home is about as much as I can cope with. "I didn't think you'd be here," he admits as he comes over to my desk.

  


I wave my hand in a gesture that I wanted to appear dismissive, but suspect came out more like exhaustedly noncommittal. "I'm trying to go home. Really." Even to my own ears, I sound exhaustedly noncommittal.

  


"Not hard enough." There's a definite half-smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he speaks.

  


I know he's joking, but his words give me the impetus to pull myself up in my chair a little, forcing a smile to my lips. "So what brings you down here?"

  


He holds out the report. "I was reading the employee fraud thing that you and Sam gave me, and I wanted to double check where you got the statistics from. The President's gonna want to know that."

  


"He is?"

  


Leo nods, enjoying the look of disbelief that I'm sure is on my face. "The President is a trivia geek Ainsley, and a numbers freak. Put those two together and you got trouble in River City."

  


I stare at him for a minute longer before deciding to believe him. After all, why else would he be down here at midnight? "OK then," I say, relieved that I hadn't shut off my computer yet. "I've got that here - I'll print you off a copy."

  


"Ah, it'll wait till morning." He waves his hand in what I realise my dismissive gesture should have been like a few minutes ago, but he does it much better than me. Maybe he's just had more practice.

  


I shake my head, having already located the file and pressed print. "But you're here now."

  


"That I am." Leo drops into the seat opposite me with a heavy sigh, and I suddenly figure out that he's just as tired as I am. He just does a better job of hiding it. "You did a good job with that today."

  


"Yeah?" I'm not sure what else to say.

  


"Ainsley, in case you haven't figured it out by now, it's not easy to convince Sam Seaborn to change his mind about anything. I was surprised you got him to go along with you."

  


"But I was right."

  


Leo chuckles. "That you were. But sometimes, in politics that doesn't always matter."

  


I sigh, thinking of the meeting on the Hill today. "Ain't that the truth."

  


He's leaning back in the chair, looking around the office. He studies the Gilbert and Sullivan posters on the wall before declaring, "You decorated."

  


"Sam organised it," I tell him. "He and Toby and CJ and Josh did this…I didn't know what was going on when I walked in, and there they all were, singing Gilbert and Sullivan songs on a Saturday morning." I laugh at the memory, and so does he.

  


"Even Toby?"

  


I nod, laughing even more the memory of the look on Toby's face as he sat where I am now, puffing on his cigar, singing along with the CD. "I think Sam wanted to do something to cheer me up after my first day," I tell him, regretting the words as soon as they're out of my mouth.

  


He looks instantly worried. "I heard about what Joyce and Brookline did." His lips are a thin line.

  


"It really wasn't that big a deal…" I attempt to say, but he cuts me off.

  


"The hell it wasn't. If Sam hadn't fired them, I'd have done it. That kind of stuff doesn't go on in this White House Ainsley, and if anyone else tries it, you come to me, you understand?"

  


I gulp, although I know he's not angry with me. "Yes Sir."

  


"Leo."

  


"Yes Sir." I grin at my automatic response, and so does he.

  


"Sam told me you did good at the meeting on the Hill too."

  


That surprises me. I can feel my eyes open wide. "He did?"

  


Leo nods, never taking his eyes off mine. "I was surprised that he was going to take you along." That twinkle in his eyes is back again, and it's making me nervous this time. I shrug.

  


"Well…"

  


I find myself unable to articulate anything beyond that, unusual for me, and Leo takes it upon himself to take up the slack. He raises an eyebrow. "You wanted to learn from the master?"

  


I can feel the rush of heat staining my cheeks, and drop my head into my hands momentarily. "He told you that?" I manage to squeak out.

  


Leo's chuckling softly in his chair, and any hint of tiredness that he might have been showing is long gone. "He was quite proud I think."

  


"Oh God."

  


"Ainsley." He's still laughing. "It's really not that big of a deal."

  


I lift my head. "It's just…I didn't think he'd repeat what I said. And to you no less. I mean, if I had…I just don't want you to think that I'm the kind of woman who would…"

  


He picks up the sentence. "Use your feminine wiles to get what you want?"

  


I find myself nodding. "In a nutshell, yes."

  


There's what can only be described as a burst of laughter from the seat across from me. "Ainsley, stuff like that goes on here all the time. How do you think Donna keeps Josh in line?"

  


I consider the question. "I was thinking along the lines of divine intervention," I offer.

  


There's another laugh from Leo, and the thought flashes through my mind that I could very easily sit here all night if it means that I could hear Leo laugh like that. I've seen him smile more in the few minutes he's been here than in the whole time I've been working here, and it suits him. "You just may have something there," he tells me. "Although I'm still going with my original theory. There was this time when there was an incident with Mary Marsh…"

  


The name immediately tallies in my mind, reminding me of another op-ed piece that I wrote. "Too busy being indicted for tax fraud?" I guess.

  


He nods, and if he remembers the op-ed piece, it doesn't show. "I made him go to this meeting that Toby set up, made him apologise. He was going to go as he was, at the end of a day where he hadn't been home in the last forty something hours." My nose wrinkles in disgust and he nods. "Exactly. So Donna's trying to get him to change his shirt. And he's all, 'I'm not gonna do that, she can take me as she finds me.' So Donna holds out the shirt and goes, 'But all the girls think you look really hot in this shirt.' I swear to God, he nearly took her hand off as well."

  


We both laugh for a moment. "I wrote an op-ed about that." The words shock me. I hadn't meant to say them, they just came out of my mouth. Usually, I'd say that it's a nervous condition, but I'm not the least bit nervous. Not anymore. Not with him.

  


"I know." There's no emotion in his voice. He might as well be telling me what day it is.

  


"I wrote one about you too."

  


"I know that too. You told me already, remember?"

  


He's still calm, but my stomach is churning with remorse. "Leo, I know you don't want to hear this, but I really must apol-"

  


"Ainsley." He cuts me off, holding up his hand. "I don't want to hear this."

  


"But I-"

  


"Ah!" The hand remains up. "I mean it. The past is the past. And some things…well, some things are best left there."

  


I nod, and realise that the printer has finished spitting out its pages. I hand them across the table to him and he flicks through them, making sure that they're what he wants. When he's sure that they are, he stands up to go. "You should go home. Get some rest."

  


I quirk an eyebrow. "Pots and kettles Leo."

  


He smiles. "True."

  


He's at the door when I stop him. "Leo?"

  


"Yeah?"

  


"I was wrong." He frowns, and I know he doesn't know what I mean. "About the op-ed piece? I was wrong."

  


He nods, and there's a ghost of a smile on his face. "Get some sleep."

  


I smile to myself as I turn off the computer, its soft whirring not disguising the sound of his footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Feeling more energised than I've done most of the day, I leave the office. It's late, and I'm hungry. And I need to get some sleep.


End file.
